


You'll Never Feel So Helpless

by Cave_of_Confusion



Series: Eliza [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Amputee Eliza, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Crying, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Foster Care, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phantom pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_Confusion/pseuds/Cave_of_Confusion
Summary: Eliza's whole world was in flames. Not only figuratively, but also physically.She was forced to watch her whole world burn. After her foster father set a fire and burned down the house, she loses her little sister and everything she knows. She gets placed in the care of George and Martha Washington and their adopted son Hercules.But when everything seems to be on the way to stability, her world is set ablaze. Again.(a.k.a an angsty Foster Care AU where Eliza is haunted by her truamatic past and tries to figure out life after escaping abuse)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Series: Eliza [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702747
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	1. The Fire That Started It All

**Author's Note:**

> I live for angst and the foster care au.
> 
> We hurt Eliza, but I promise it will come to a stop eventually. Let me know what you think.

The first feeling that runs through Eliza after she wakes up is pain. Paralysing pain. Her side is bleeding through her clothes onto the ground. She looks around to see where she is, but not only can she barely see in the darkness, she feels that if she moves, she might bleed out. She _will_ bleed out.

_The bottle, screams, dark._

Eliza's reasoning knows that it is probably the shock that is causing the memory loss, but her instincts panic nonetheless. She frantically searches for something to grab onto with her hands and pull herself up. It was something that she could always do. Grab onto anything she can find, stand up and run. She wants to do it now, but she knows she can't. If there is one thing she learned since coming to live with the Reynolds family, is that she needs to calm down, think and _keep quiet_.

_Think. Think, think._

She feels weaker and weaker every second. She tries to move one hand when she realizes that she's lying in a pool of her own blood. The last thing she remembers is being pushed onto the ground with something sharp. _The broken bottle_. She can feel the weight and the pressure of the glass pieces in her side. She was probably taken by surprise since she never even got a chance to cover her side or curl in on herself. She must have already been barely conscious when she was pushed onto the floor with the piece of glass. Her memories muffled, head pounding, body immobile, she tries to focus on analyzing her surroundings.

_Wood, warm, familiar- Reynolds house._

_James_. That's it. She remembers how it felt being yelled at, grabbed closer to him and punched, then losing herself for a moment only to be stabbed and shoved to the ground. That’s when everything went dark. The skies seemed to have fallen. It felt different than usual, though. Her lower half doesn’t hurt like it usually does after Reynolds has a bad day and she doesn't have the same chilling adrenaline to allow her to pull herself up despite the pain. On the contrary- she’s too warm and worn out to even stand up. There is steam around her. No- it’s not steam- it’s _smoke_. 

_Warm, hot, Burning._

_Fire._

She gathers enough strength to turn her head and see an orange glow blurred by dark smoke in the kitchen. In a sudden rush of adrenaline, she manages to remove her prosthetic leg to make it easier for herself to move. Tossing the prosthesis aside, she gathers all of her energy to crawl to the table where the telephone is. Even though it is just a few feet away - maybe 4 or 5, by the time she reaches the cable and pulls it to make it drop onto the floor next to her, she’s too worn out to do much else. Shifting in and out of consciousness, she manages to take the phone, dial 911 and mumble a few words to the lady on the other side of the call.

_Come to Jackson Street 137..._

_Fire... _

_help..._

_I’m helpless..._

The last words were coughed out, as smoke started to fill her lungs. From where she was lying now, she could see a blur of what looked to be a collapsed James in the dark kitchen. And that is the last thing she sees before slipping away into darkness as she hears the muffled sound of sirens becoming louder, as the help is getting closer. She can’t keep awake anymore, so she gives in to the darkness. 

_Gives in to the fire_

_Gives in to James_

* * *

When she wakes again, the first thing Elizabeth becomes aware of is the feeling of a hand touching her cheek. The oversensitivity from just a simple action has her whimpering. She figures it’s James and she braces herself for what always happens after he allows himself into her room at night. She waits for him to turn her around onto her stomach and hold her mouth shut, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, he touches one of the bruises on her cheek that he has inflicted. Upon further thinking, though, Eliza realizes that those aren’t James’s hands- they’re soft and delicate. _Female hands_. Next, she focuses on the sound. Lots of sound. So much sound that she squeezes in on herself in pain from the volume. Light follows next, causing the girl to screw her eyes closed against it.

As the haze starts wearing off, Eliza regains the rest of her senses. She hears the loud muffled voices near her- all unknown, all too loud. She slowly finds the strength in her to lift up her heavy eyelids, slipping them open just enough to see the bright light and make her squint. Unknown, too loud, too bright. The voices seem to quiet, but Eliza can still hear a murmur of whispers. She barely notices the hand moving away from her face to her shoulder, but she can feel how it gently shakes her awake. She only regains her mind when the lady starts speaking loudly. Too loudly for Eliza.

“Elizabeth, can you hear me, sweetie? Can you open your eyes for me?” The voice seems nice, but again, just too loud. Eliza does as she is asked and finally gets a glimpse of where she is.

The room is white and the bright light from above makes it even harder for her eyes to adjust. She can feel that she’s not wearing her prosthesis, which alone gives her a sudden surge of anxiety. After a while, she notices a blonde blur near her- the doctor- and a dark blur, that is the other person in a neatly pressed navy suit. It looks expensive. Now that she has her senses almost fully back, she feels something is off. There is a lot of tension in the air.

“Hi, Elizabeth. How are you feeling?” The doctor asks with a forced smile, glancing between the girl and the monitors that she is attached to. Eliza tries to move her head to look around, but then lets out a silent squeak and lets it fall back into position. “I’m... Where am I?” Her voice is raspy and quiet, but loud enough for the doctor to hear.

“Do you not know where you are? Do you remember anything, Sweetie?” The doctor’s voice is filled with concern that she was trying to hide from the teenager by masking it with a smile.

Eliza tries to concentrate and go back in her memory. She remembers the vague idea of what had happened. Her foster father, James Reynolds, has probably treated her a bit too harshly this time. Then, she remembers the fire. As the memory re-enters her mind, her shoulders hunch and she seems to close in on herself. She looks up at the two people in her room, studying their faces for the first time. They both had expressions of pity and sadness, but none of them faced the girl they seemed to be so worried about. 

After a pause that lasted for a bit too long, the man in the suit steps closer to the bed. “Elizabeth, my name is Thomas Conway and I’m your new assigned social worker. There was a fire. You called 911, do you remember that?” His voice is deep and loud, making him sound formal and sending shivers down the girl’s spine. As he steps closer, a gulp starts to grow in Eliza’s throat, making her swallow in stress.

She wants to answer him, tell him exactly what she remembers, but the only thing she manages to do is to look down and nod. The man continues nonetheless.

“Is that the last thing you remember?” The man tries to be as gentle as possible but only earns another terrified nod from the girl. “The fire crew managed to get you all to safety before the explosion.” Eliza carefully looks up at Mr. Conway, avoiding his eyes, but before she can ask anything, the story is continued. “The fire was most likely started by James Reynolds- your father.” The girl flinches at the use of the word, but the man doesn’t notice. “It spread into the gas system, causing an explosion. Your father and you were the lucky ones to make it without much trouble. Your sister, however, was upstairs, where all the smoke was gathering. She suffered severe asphyxiation due to the smoke inhalation. I am terribly sorry, Elizabeth, but she still hasn’t woken up and she probably won’t anytime soon.”

The man spoke about Peggy in an awfully casual manner. He just told Elizabeth that the only person she cares about is in a coma and his tone didn’t even shift once. The girl finally manages to look up at the man. Before she realizes, her face is wet and she is holding back sobs.

“Peggy...” Elizabeth is starting to hyperventilate, thick tears streaming down her cheeks. “...Please...” She begs as if believing that that can turn back time and bring her little sister back. 

_Peggy._ Peggy was upstairs, hiding from James, but Eliza came home from school too late, having to walk past her drunken foster father. Of course, he didn’t let her go that easily, yelling at her for being an “ungrateful, useless freak, who doesn’t deserve to live under his roof” amongst other things that Eliza would rather not remember. She would usually leave with minor bruises and then he would appear in her room in the middle of the night. He would wake her up, hold her mouth shut and turn her around so that she would lay on her stomach before crawling onto her from behind. He would pin her down, and hold her face on the side. If she tried to fight back, he would make sure to teach her a lesson. The night before the fire, he put his hand on the side of her face, pushing the base of his palm into the joint of her jaw. She didn’t cry, she kept quiet because that was what was expected of her. She couldn't risk making any noise. After what felt like hours, but was probably 15 minutes, she was left with a swollen jaw and a purple, blossoming flower of a bruise. But the next day was different -there was the beating, the punch, and the broken bottle. 

And then, there was the blood. 

_So much blood_

As tears roll down her face, Eliza’s hand goes to touch her side and her heart begins to hammer in fear. It is heavily bandaged and numb from all the painkillers and drugs she was given. More is said, but Eliza tunes it all out as she drifts in and out of awareness. When she tries to listen, she doesn’t understand what’s being said, because her ears seem to be filled with water and her senses seem to be muffled from all the drugs. The doctor had to leave the room at some point, leaving Eliza alone with the social worker. This just adds fire to the flame and makes Eliza stiffen in fear. Her breathing heightens as she begins to panic. Mr. Conway can’t seem to calm Eliza down, so the nurse comes in and gives the girl some sedative. After a few more moments of hyperventilation and panic, the meds begin to sink in, numbing her mind and leaving her a mess, disorientated and light-sensitive.

* * *

When the girl finally wakes up the doctor is there again. As she is checking the monitors and pipes connected to Eliza’s side, the girl mumbles something out.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, can you repeat that?”

“Can I see her, please?” She pauses for a few seconds but continues because it seems like the doctor doesn’t really know what she’s asking for. “M-my sister- P-Peggy…?” She hates to ask for anything, to speak out of turn, to disturb, but she needs to see Pegs. The doctor gathers her thoughts and takes Eliza’s hand in hers. The girl flinches at the touch but lets it be if that means she could see Peggy. “Sweetie, your sister is in a bad state. Because of the smoke that she inhaled, she suffered damage and burns to her respiratory system, and her brain was deprived of oxygen for a while. The activity levels in her brain are slowly decreasing from what we can see. She’s stable, but she’s unable to breathe on her own and we haven’t been able to wake her up yet.”

Eliza lets the words sink in for a while. Tears flow down her cheeks as she is hit with the realisation- she will probably lose her sister.

It’s been 2 days since the fire, and Peggy is still in a coma. Eliza was in one herself but woke up without much struggle. 

_But Peggy is still asleep._

The doctor can see how Eliza goes pale, so she decides to talk some more. “We’ve sent some police to your house to go and get your prosthesis, but if it makes you feel any better, I could ask for a wheelchair and take you to see your sister. She is right down the hall.”

At this, Eliza gives the lady a nod and something as close to a smile as she can muster at this moment. A few minutes later, the Doctor, a wheelchair and in it Eliza with an IV, make their way to a quiet room at the end of the hall.

Elizabeth’s eyes glisten with tears upon seeing her sister. She takes Peggy’s hand in hers and kisses it very lightly as if she could break or disappear from the simplest motion. “Pegs…” The older girl speaks up after a while but then pauses again. “I'm so sorry...” At that the dam breaks and tears flow freely down Eliza's face.

She puts her head down on Peggy’s bed as her sniffles turn into sobs and she whispers intelligible things in the softest voice into Peggy’s hand. “I'm so so sorry, Peggy…It's all my fault and I-I'm s-so sorry... Just... Wake up, please…” She pauses for a while to give another kiss to her sleeping sister. Peggy looks peaceful, but there is the slightest trace of conflict in her face and Eliza takes it upon herself to calm her sister’s slightly furrowed brows. “We're free now, Peggy. We could go run away for the summer, go upstate.” At this point, Eliza starts flooding her sister’s sheets with her salty tears. “We can go and stay at Dad’s old house. There’s a lake I know- from Dad’s stories when we were little. We could go there together, Peggy. You and I… And no one else. He won't hurt you anymore, I promise.” Eliza takes another pause and continues sobbing into her sister’s hand. "We are so lucky to be alive right now… Just wake up, Pegs, please. There’s no Reynolds anymore. No more pain or hunger. We’re free. Free from James. We can do whatever, go wherever… We’ve survived for so long… Just stay alive and come back to me… We’ll start over, we’ll finally be happy, be free.” 

_“Just wake up, Peggy…”_

After that, Eliza’s quiet crying is the only sound in the room, except for the beeping of the machines her sister is attached to. For a while, the two sisters stay like this. Their breathing harmonizes- Peggy breathing through the ventilator and Eliza trying to mimic the pattern to calm down. The thing that breaks the beautiful silence is the doctor telling Eliza that they should be going, that she should rest. Eliza gives one more kiss to Peggy’s palm and whispers a sweet “I love you”- one, that only her little sister can hear.

They move back up the hall to Eliza’s room, where she sits on her bed alone. After a while she just goes to sleep, exhausted after seeing her sister. She is both emotionally and physically drained which helps drown her thoughts and calm her down enough to fall asleep. She can hear the medical equipment beeping. It’s there to indicate Eliza’s well being, but instead, it just keeps making pointless noise. Silence always scared her. She was forced to keep quiet regardless of the pain or contempt she was feeling. Sound was her saving grace, something to remind her that James doesn’t fully control her entire life yet. The sound of Peggy singing or her laughter always could bring a smile to her face. She used to be glad for any type of sound, but this one just sends her mind back to Peggy’s artificial breathing and the sound of the ventilator that has replaced her laughter. Peggy and the lack of her usual giggling and smiling. _Peggy and the lack of Peggy_. Eliza never liked the quiet before. 

_Before today._


	2. The Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all started and more. Sad Eliza and lots of angst. 
> 
> Comment and let me know what you think <3
> 
> TW for sexual abuse, violence

“Elizabeth, sweetie, wake up.” The doctor touches Eliza’s shoulder gently, but the girl still bolts up in panic. “Shh... It’s okay. There’s a social worker here and he’s going to bring you to where you’ll be staying for a while. Um... Mr. Conway, he’s called, I think. He’ll come in a second.”

So this is how it ends- or starts. Eliza’s eyes go wide and her face goes paper-white, but she manages the slightest of nods. She has to obey, agree and do what people expected.

With that, the nurse stands up and walks to the door. “Mr. Conway, you can come in now.” She then holds the door open and a tall, broad-shouldered man walks in with Eliza’s prosthetic leg in his hand. He takes one look at the girl in the bed and sighs, as if looking at her, was something that actually pained him. “Hello Elizabeth, how are you feeling?”

The girl doesn’t reply, scared that she’ll burst into tears if she even opens her mouth. It is obvious that she isn't well. She's even further away from well now that the man is in the room. Her heartbeat heightens as he comes closer to the bed.

“We’ve found a place for you. It’s an emergency placement that is okay with special needs and it’s where you’ll stay until we figure out all the logistics and get you somewhere else.”

Eliza looks totally broken now. “And P-Peggy?” Her voice breaks halfway through the question.

“For now we’re just going to get you out of here. We can think about a more permanent home later, and as to your sister, she'll stay here until the doctors decide otherwise or if she wakes up.” The man didn’t sound reassuring when talking about the girl’s sister as if he honestly didn’t believe she would ever wake up. That made the social worker even more terrifying and untrustworthy in Eliza’s eyes.

Peggy would stay in the hospital and Eliza would probably never see her again.

Never see her little sister again.

_Her little sister…_

“Get ready to leave in the next 10 minutes. I’ll come and collect you.” With that, he hands Eliza her prosthesis and makes his way out of the room, leaving the terrified girl alone. She was glad to be left alone, but that didn’t stop her from bursting into tears. If she’s to trust Mr. Conway’s judgment, she’ll probably never see her sister again. Feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline, she slips on the silicone lining, puts on her prosthesis, and quietly makes her way to Peggy’s room down the hall. The leg is getting small on Eliza and it is quite painful to walk in, but it is still better than a wheelchair. Her prosthetic gives her mobility and independence, and in a world controlled by James Reynolds, she’d take any independence she could have. She arrives at the door unseen and walks over to Peggy. Her little Peggy. Her little Peggy whom she failed to protect. Her little sister who just a few days ago was happy, who now is in a hospital bed, breathing through a ventilator. Her dear little sister…

_It was all Eliza's fault._

“Hi, Peggy.” Eliza’s voice starts shaking instantly. “We won’t see each other for a while now... A-And you won’t hear from me.” She pauses as if waiting for a reply, but when nothing comes, she continues. “But when you wake up-“ The thought of that not happening just makes her heart pinch. “I’ll try my best to see you again and I won’t stop trying. I'm so so sorry, Peggy. I'm sorry...” Eliza is fully sobbing now, clutching onto her sister’s hand, like her life depends on it. Peggy has been the only thing that was worth fighting for in Eliza’s life. She endured all of the pain and suffering just to keep her younger sister safe, but now it turns out that it was all for nothing. She couldn't protect her and she was now going to have to leave Peggy alone. “I promise you that I’ll fight and I won’t stop... I-I love you, Pegs. I have to go now, but just know that I love you.” The older girl finally stands up and places a kiss on Peggy’s forehead. The thought of this being their last goodbye makes her heart clench, but she pushes it down. She wants to believe that they'll see each other again. She wants to believe that the kiss on her hand will wake Peggy up. She wants to believe.

With that last kiss, she makes her way out of her sister’s room and back into her own, where she puts on the big hoodie she was given by the nurse and sits on the bed, waiting for the inevitable to come.

* * *

When the social worker comes back into the room to collect Eliza, she’s sitting there hunched over, alone on the bed with her back to the door. Mr. Conway makes his presence known by clearing his throat and knocking, startling the girl and jolting her broken ribs. She freezes when she hears him come closer.

“We should get going.” Mr. Conway doesn’t seem at all awkward around the girl, probably ignoring how terrified she must be. Yet, without a second to spare, Eliza stands up and turns to face the door, still avoiding the social worker's eyes. The socket of her prosthesis keeps digging into her thigh and she tries not to wince in pain as she follows Mr. Conway and his fast-paced walking. She’s wearing a pair of loose sweatpants that hide her prosthesis well, some sneakers, and a big hoodie that floods her frail physique. Her own clothes got burned or taken as evidence by the police, so she was left with what the nurses somehow managed to get out of pity. Eliza follows the man out into the corridor and to the reception desk and she sits down and massages her leg as Mr. Conway signs the discharge papers. Eliza can hear him talking to the nurse, going over her medical conditions to give the information to the people she’ll be staying with. People who won't care or people who will be just like Reynolds or her previous foster parents. She knows she is safe on the hospital grounds, but she’s not so sure of the outside.

After the social worker comes back with a file and two pill bottles, he takes out his car keys and gestures with his head for the girl to follow. She tries her hardest to hide the fear in her eyes, but her trembling body reveals how terrified she really is. At some point during their walk to the car, she detaches herself from her shaking body and only regains her mind when Mr. Conway opens the door for her to get in. She does so, and only then realizes that her face is wet from silent tears. She’s about to be alone in a car with an unknown man, who for all she knows might have even worse intentions than Reynolds. She knows she has to be quiet to not further agitate him. She tries to make herself stop crying, but fails, so instead, she results to sobbing quietly clammed into herself in the furthest corner of the car away from her social worker. Actually controlling her panic attack is beyond her capabilities right now. At some point, the quiet sobs turn into almost inaudible sniffles and soon stop altogether.

“We should be there in half an hour.” Mr. Conway says, making the girl wince at his stern voice. She starts to breathe more heavily knowing she’s about to be left all alone in a new house, without her sister. She misses Peggy. Peggy, who’s going to be all alone and afraid when she wakes up.

If _she wakes up._

Eliza hates herself for even allowing the _'if'_ to enter her mind, but she can't help it. Eliza was never the one to see the world through rose-colored glasses and deep inside she feels- _she knows_\- that Peggy is asleep and is likely to remain so.

Mr. Conway realizes how the girl seems to tense up. “There’s nothing to worry about. They are good people.” He fails to comfort her, instead, making her shake and seem even more stressed, so he decides to leave the girl in peace.

* * *

_‘They are good people’_ said Mr. Conway. The same thing was said about the Reynolds family. They were young when they first arrived at the Reynolds house- Eliza was eleven and Peggy was nine. They had been in the system for 5 years, during which they experienced more than enough pain. Their social worker promised them a new start with a great family- an end to the ongoing abuse of the past 7 homes. The girls never managed to stay in a home for more than a year and there were many reasons for that but none of them were ever any good. It was hard to find a place that would take in a “normal” and a disabled kid. Houses that specialized in disabilities usually didn’t take in healthy kids, and the foster system didn’t want to waste space in the trained homes. For the first three years, they were somehow kept together, but they were separated for more than two years before moving to the Reynolds family. James and Susan were supposed to be the break in that cycle. Eliza and Peggy were finally reunited and promised a new start and a forever home that would provide for both of them. It was great during the first month. It was good the next three. It was shaky the month before James’s wife left. Then, when she was gone, it all went downhill. First, James started being neglectful. Eliza, only 11 years old at the time, had to care for both her sister and herself when James didn’t come home for a few days or weeks at a time, or was too drunk to care for his “daughters”. As long as Peggy was okay, everything was okay. After a few months of this sick harmony, James lost his job, came home drunk and did the unimaginable.

James never touched Peggy. If she did something that pissed him off, she would get hit, like in any other home, but he never touched her in _that_ way. The first night he came into Eliza’s room was after she broke a plate at dinner and he kicked her in the face. He was drunk, jobless and hopeless. She was barely 12. The kick didn’t leave a big bruise, but it was the action itself that made her so afraid.

_“You useless piece of shit! Can't you get anything right?” James screamed._

_Eliza was on the floor quickly trying to pick up the remains of the plate she dropped. Her prosthetic was getting in the way, but she scrambled the pieces regardless, as quickly as possible. “I-I'm sorry, sir” she stuttered. He had told her to call him 'sir' a few weeks earlier. At the time she didn’t understand why, but she went with it to avoid the hits that were starting to get more and more frequent._

_“I can't do shit with sorry, can I? You should be grateful that you're even allowed under my roof, you cripple.” He came so dangerously close to her, that Eliza was forced to smell the mix of strong alcohol her foster father had consumed over the day. She tried to get up, to get out of his face, but a boot kicked her face making her nose bleed immediately. Tears shot into her eyes and she fell back into the shards on the floor._

_“I'm sorry!” she whined as he pulled her up by her hair, close to his face. "Why do you make me hurt you? Why can't you just shut up and do what I say, huh?" He let her go and she fell back down onto the hard tile floor. But that one kick was only the beginning._

He woke her up at night by violently turning her on her stomach and climbing on top of her. She didn’t understand what was going on until he whispered in her ear.

_“You remind me so much of her. Your pretty pale face and dark hair. Just like her. So good for me.”_

His drunken words made her freeze in place and shiver as she realized who he was talking about. She reminded him of his wife- Susan- who had left less than a year before.

_“I'm sorry to have hit you, I really am, but you forced me to do it. I never meant to hurt you, you know that.” He slurred as his hands went down to her pajama pants, making Eliza whimper in fear. “Shhh... You don’t want your sister to hear you now, do you? If she ever finds out she will take your place, so keep quiet.” The last word was hissed through his gritted teeth. Every word he said was filled with hatred towards Susan, who James was projecting onto Eliza in his drunken state. The scared girl just nodded with a squeak. “Every time you require punishment, you just give me the chance to have my way with you. You do realize that, right?”_

The night was full of pain and James’s muffled moans that echoed in Eliza's head for the next months. It didn’t happen again for the next few weeks, but eventually, it started getting more and more frequent. The first year after that night it only happened 3 or 4 times, giving Eliza a reason to not tell anyone.

_‘He hasn’t done it for the past 2 months, so maybe he’s stopped?’_

_‘He keeps us under a stable roof so I can’t just deny Peggy safety for my own selfish reasons.’_

_‘If we go back into the system, they will for sure place Peggy in a different home, and I won’t be able to protect her then.'_

_‘He won’t do it again. He hasn’t even hit us the past week, so maybe he’s getting better.’_

But after the first year, after Eliza turned 13, he started to come into her room anytime he wanted. To protect Peggy, Eliza would often send her out of the house to sleep at their friend's place. Angelica knew that the girls' home situation wasn't good, so she was happy to provide a safe place for Peggy whenever Eliza asked for it. James barely ever noticed that Peggy was missing, but Eliza could never escape him. She begged him to stop, she cried, hid, blocked the door, tried to run, she even sometimes slept in her prosthetic, just so that she’d be able to get away. But every time she tried to do any of that, he would be harsher and hurt her even more. She felt sick with herself as she let it happen, but she didn't want to hurt anymore. It was all her fault. She had to take it, and hide it, because she couldn't let it happen to her sister. At some point, she gave up and simply dedicated every day to Peggy. Her little sister was the only thing she cared about and protected. When James became more abusive, Eliza would send her sister upstairs and try to deal with him on her own. On the days when he wasn’t there, she would care for her sister and help her with anything she needed. She would cook for them both, but when there wasn’t enough food left, and they didn’t have any money, she cooked for just Peggy.

‘Liza, eat.’ Peggy said when yet another night she saw her older sister sitting at the table, doing homework during dinner, without a plate in front of her.

‘Pegs, don’t be silly! I ate already!’ Her sister looked at her incredulously, so Eliza continued her trail of lies. ’Besides, I’m not hungry. I ate while cooking, so just go ahead and eat up so that I can finish cleaning up.’ At that, she chuckled softly to prove that she was feeling good. She was far from that, but Peggy didn’t need to know. Peggy was content and safe, and that was all that mattered.

The neglect had started showing on her gaunt face and bony arms after a few months. James wouldn’t come home for days or even weeks at a time, but Eliza never dared to ask where he went. She knew he was short of money and without a job, but she knew better than to call the police or social services. As long as they were under his roof, Eliza could create an illusion of everything being fine. It was far from perfect, Peggy knew that of course, but they both learned to handle it. Eliza sacrificed so much for Peggy and she didn’t want to take her sister out of the stable world she had created. Peggy seemed happy and Eliza knew that everything she had sacrificed was worth it. James still appeared at nights- sometimes real, sometimes just the memory, but seeing Peggy smile or laugh was enough for Eliza. _Enough to stay alive._

‘They are good people’ was said about James and Susan Reynolds. Susan, who left the family without a second glance, and James who abused, neglected, and ruined Eliza and Peggy. The fire ended that misery, but in return, started a worse one- one where Peggy was in a coma and Eliza was alone, on her way to a new family. A family that wouldn’t be any different.

_‘There’s no point in trying to escape,’ said James when Eliza tried to break free from his grasp. Her struggling only seemed to enrage him more. ‘I will always be there and you will always be mine. No one will want a freak like you. Your cries won’t help anyone, so just shut up and do as I say. You're forcing me to do this, you know. If you'd only stop resisting me I could make this so much easier for you.’_

James Reynolds was not a good person -_and neither would this family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments much appreciated <3


	3. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Washington receives a phone call about an emergency placement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day so please leave one below if you enjoyed! 
> 
> This chapter is shorter than usual but I just wanted to put something out there. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"-George Washington speaking,” The older man answers the phone in a stern tone. It’s been a long day for George and getting another work call at home is not something pleasant. Can’t he just spend a quiet evening at home with his family once in a while?

"Good evening, Mr. Washington. My name is Thomas Conway and I’m from the New York Department of Child Services.” At this, George froze for a bit. What is this? They’ve renewed their foster license almost a year ago but no-one’s ever reached out to them. ”I see, that you are listed as a foster family open to taking in a child, am I correct?”

“Uh, yes, you’re correct,” Before Washington can get a word in, the man on the other side continues.

“There is a girl in need of an emergency placement. We need— We would like to ask you to keep her for a few nights until we can find her a permanent home. Your wife used to be a nurse, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.” His brain is too tired to process the strange nature of this phone call.

“Well, that's actually a major reason why we chose your family. We have a girl, Elizabeth Schuyler, 14- she’s at a hospital right now. She has a major injury to her side, some broken ribs, and generally needs medical attention and some peace and quiet. Also, she’s an amputee- they cut off her leg above the knee when she was 6, I think, so combined with her stab wound and your wife having nurse training, you guys seem like a perfect fit. You only have an older child in your house, right?”

“Yes, we do. What happened to that girl, though?”

“It’s all in her file. I'll deliver it when we arrive- That is if you agree to take her in,” He pauses and continues in a low voice. "I can’t really share it now- privacy policies and stuff are a pain in the-" He cuts off, coughs, and continues in his normal, loud manner. "But I'll have it with me if you agree to foster her.” The man pauses and pretends to sigh defeated. “That girl has been through hell, and we can’t keep her in the hospital anymore. A group home would just make things worse, so your family is the best option. Your house would be perfect for her for the next week or so until we're able to place her in a permanent home that's good with trauma and has special needs qualifications.” His fake devastation is quite persuasive, giving that it is an adult man pretending to have a maiden in distress on his hands.

George frowns at that. “I understand, will you give me an hour? I'll talk to my family and call you back.”

“Of course! The doctors said they still have a few things to do until she wakes up... um... an IV, a rape kit, redressing the injury. They want to release her today.” He pauses again. “We won’t be leaving this place until at least 7 pm, so I'd be glad for a response before 6.”

“Okay, I'll call you back soon. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Mr. Washington, and thank you.”

* * *

And with that, Thomas Conway hangs up. George Washington is a usually composed man, but this talk surprises him. He leaves his study almost 15 minutes later, still processing all the information that the social worker just dropped on him like a bomb. This is so out of the blue. And what are the odds that they would call right this second when the only thing on George’s mind is sleep? He goes to talk to his wife, finding Martha sitting at the kitchen island, most likely reading some emails from work on her laptop.

“Hi, we need to speak.” He says after clearing his throat to make his presence known.

“What is it?” Martha says without lifting her eyes from her computer, her tone disclosing the fact that she is not paying attention to her husband at all.

“Remember when we talked about fostering?” That finally gets Martha’s attention. “Well, we marked that we can do emergency placements too, so a social worker just called and said that there is a 14-year-old girl in need of placement today. It would be for a few nights before they can move her to a permanent house trained for special needs that can handle her trauma.”

“Trauma?” Her brows furrow in worry. “Did he say what happened to her?”

“He didn’t say exactly but he said it will be in her file if we decide to take her in. From what he mentioned, she has some broken ribs, a serious injury to her side and she lost her leg as a child. Apparently, thanks to your past as a nurse our house can provide her with the medical attention and quiet she’d need. The social worker was really pushing it, I could tell he was desperate. We should tell him our decision before 6 so that he knows whether to look for another placement, I guess.”

“Where is she now?” Asks Martha closing her laptop, her work seemingly long forgotten.

“She’s in a hospital. They’re still running tests and procedures, but will be finished at 7. He sounded really desperate and I think we can do it. I'm saying yes, but it needs to be mutual. What do you think?”

“George, you know I care about those kids. I’m just worried about whether we'll be right for her. We haven’t seen her file or what she went through or—”

George sees that Martha’s starting to overthink so he cuts her off, taking her hand in his. “Martha, it's just for a few nights. Besides, the man was convinced that we were the right choice, at least for now. The house is ready, the documents are ready, now I’m just asking- are we ready?” Martha doesn’t answer so he continues. “I think we are, hon.”

After a longer pause, Martha speaks up. “Yeah, I think so too.”

George smiles at that and with a bittersweet grin, yells. “Hercules, come here for a sec!”

“What?” The sound is muffled by the pairs of doors that are between the kitchen and Herc’s room on the first floor. After a few seconds, Hercules is at the top of the stairs. “Is it urgent? I’m kind of in the middle of doing something.”

“It is, son. Your mom and I need to talk to you.”

The boy walks down the stairs to the kitchen and sits down at the counter next to Martha. “Sup?”

“Remember when we were renewing our fostering license last year?” George doesn’t give his son a chance to answer before continuing. “A social worker just called, saying that there is a girl in need of an emergency placement for a week or so. She’s 14 and it sounds like she’s been through a lot and needs some peace and quiet. They asked us to keep her for a few nights until they find a more permanent place for her to move to.”

Hercules looks dumbfounded. It’s completely understandable for him to react that way. After applying a year ago, they never got a call back, and they all kind of forgot about it. Seems like Herc forgot about it too. “Ok?” The boy says slowly, probably still processing and analyzing the situation in his mind. “What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth. They actually chose our house because your mom used to be a nurse and the girl has a major injury to her side that needs medical attention. She might be a bit of work judging by the fact that even her social worker said that she’s been through hell. They need a quick response, though.”

“Wait, you mean she’s coming today? That’s really short notice-“ Before Herc can continue he is cut off by Martha.

“It is, but they can’t keep her in the hospital any longer. I say we can do it.” This time Martha sounds surer when saying it. These are the moments when George falls deeper in love with Martha every day- she’s got so much unconditional love and care, even for people she’s never met.

“I say so too.” George starts, looking between his wife and son. “What do you think?”

“Sure thing. Call him back, we can’t keep her waiting.” Hercules answers, smiling from ear to ear.

* * *

George calls Conway back a few minutes before 6. The man says they’ll arrive at their house around 8, so Martha decides to get dinner ready before that, to give the girl a choice whether to eat or not. It’s clear how much thought Martha has put into this situation already. Hercules went upstairs to finish the project he’s been working on, leaving the Washingtons in an uncomfortable silence. They eat quietly as if waiting for something terrible to happen. After cleaning up and getting the guest room ready, they sit down and simply wait. There's certainly a heavy feeling in the air. Suddenly, the sound of the bell makes both of the Washington’s jump. Mr. Conway arrives on time with a big briefcase and a small terrified girl.

Oh boy, this is it.

The social worker has his hand on the girl’s shoulder as he half pushes and half guides her into the room. Even though she’s hiding it well, you can see how uncomfortable his charge is under his hand and how she’s slightly shaking and flinching at his every move. Her own arm is on her right side, probably from the mentioned injury.

_Elizabeth. There she is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments much appreciated <3


	4. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza arrives and her social worker is a dick 
> 
> leave a comment if you enjoyed!

_Elizabeth. There she is._

George didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the girl in their doorway certainly isn’t it. Elizabeth is tiny, can’t be taller than 5 feet, and looks way too young to be 14. Her face is mature, but her alarmingly thin body makes her look years younger than she actually is. Her face is gaunt and her skin is very pale- almost dead-looking, especially in contrast with the deep purple bruise on her right cheek, and a head of dark hair made into a braid. There are strands of hair hanging in every which way, especially on her right side, hiding the still too obvious bruise. What of her skin George can see seems blemished. Peeking out of her neckline, there are more bruises, and her right side is so heavily wrapped, that the bump is visible even from underneath the big hoodie she is wearing. She’s hunched in on herself and her eyes never leave her feet.

“Good evening,” George says after a moment, a frown of concern on his face. “Hi Elizabeth, it’s nice to meet you.” He makes sure to keep his tone even and calm but he still doesn’t earn a response from the terrified girl.

“C’mon Elizabeth, what kind of a first impression is that?” Mr. Conway fails to see or just ignores how scared Elizabeth is, but manages to get a quiet “good evening” out of her after squeezing her shoulder. George is starting to hate Mr. Conway already.

“Hi, honey,” Martha says softly. All the reluctance and stress she felt towards this whole situation seems to have melted away now that Martha has met the girl in person. Elizabeth just seems so broken.

“Good evening Mrs. and Mr. Washington!” Conway says loudly, making the teenager flinch again, but finally taking his hand off her to shake George's and Martha’s. “I just need you to sign a few things and I'll leave you to it.”

"Sure. Elizabeth, why don’t you go and sit down in the living room while we sort everything out?” Martha asks, sounding quite reassuring and pointing to the couch. Elizabeth gives a slight nod and goes into the living room, while they head to the kitchen.

They sit down and Mr. Conway quickly pulls out a folder and opens it sighing. "Okay, so this is the file.” He takes the documents out of his case in an obvious hurry. “Here are the documents from the hospital with information about her health, and um... Here are some more descriptions of what happened, and yeah. I think that’s it. So let’s go through it, yeah?”

Conway says everything that follows in an obviously bored manner. “The girl is 14 years old, her name is Elizabeth Schuyler. Parents are deceased. She had an above-the-knee amputation at age 6. Anyways, you shouldn’t worry about that leg, she only needs a downstairs room and a seat in the shower and that’s it. She wears her prosthetic most of the time anyway and gets around without any major problems. Along with her sister, she entered foster care at the age of six, but since CPS policy requires the disabled kids to go to homes with special needs training, they were soon separated. They were in different homes until their last social worker found them a home that was willing to take them both. So when Elizabeth was eleven and Margarita was nine, they were placed with their last guardian, James Reynolds. It was a long-term situation and they weren't even on our radar until around a week ago when the foster father started a fire and they were rescued. The sister is still in a coma and probably won’t be waking up anytime soon, so we've had to place Elizabeth somewhere alone. Later at the hospital, they found signs of abuse on Elizabeth’s body and she admitted that it has been happening for around 2 years. Mr. Reynolds' wife left around two and a half years ago so that would make sense, I guess. God knows if it’s true but it’s enough for us to get her out of the house and get her a restraining order.”

George’s stomach twists and he knows Martha is feeling the same way. The way the man told them about all the struggles of that kid like some facts in a school book and then doubted some of it makes him feel sick. He represses it though and keeps listening. Mr. Conway leans towards them. "You two are honestly my best shot at this. 3 years in an abusive household. This would cost me my job if it continued. They already put the last guy who was in charge of them on 'administrative leave' due to neglecting their case. I certainly don't want that to be on my record too, you know. ”

"You shouldn’t see it like that. She’s a child in need of a home- not a problem to be solved." Martha blurts out, clearly on the verge and George nods in support. "Can we have the file?" she continues.

Mr. Conway seems a bit taken back by Martha’s comment but nods regardless. "You’re not supposed to be a permanent placement, but I can bend some rules and give it to you regardless. I need it by Tuesday, though." Thomas looks at both of them, expecting some kind of a protest, but Martha just puts her hand out.

“Are her medical records and information about the injuries in there?” She asks in the most serious tone that George has heard her use in a while. The man shakes his head and reaches for another, thinner file.

“That’s all that was given to me in the hospital. She probably doesn’t have much medical history before that- like I mentioned- neglect, abuse, all that jazz. That’s the only thing I can give you and I also need it back by then. I’m coming to take her to the hospital on Sunday to... uhh…” Conway looks around for the medical file, takes it out of Martha’s hand, and quickly goes to the last page. He eyes the page and squints at some information. “Oh yes, to get her stitches removed. I’ll be here at around 2 pm.” He pauses for a while as if trying to remember something. “Oh, and here are the meds. They should be described in one of the documents, and the medical conditions are described in here.” Mr. Conway says pulling out another paper from his briefcase. “There are enough pills to last her a week. We are looking for a permanent placement, but the lady who we were hoping to foster Elizabeth just took in another child, so it’ll take us longer than we thought.” Mr. Conway is, again, disturbingly casual when talking about it all. “We’ll probably move her somewhere so that she’s not a bother.”

“We should be able to foster her for the next few days or-” Martha says, but is cut off by George “-we can keep her until you find a better place, even if it’s in a week’s time. We don’t want to be putting her through more moving and stress than necessary.”

Mr. Conway looks surprised at that. ”You haven’t even spoken to her, though?” He searches George's poker face but sees nothing. “Okay, that would help us a lot. I gotta be leaving now, but I'll come back here on Sunday to take Elizabeth to her check-up. I wish you luck 'till then. See you.” The last sentence is said as more of a question but Mr. Conway is a mess anyway so that doesn't worry the Washingtons all that much.

The Washingtons escort Mr. Conway to the front door, walking by the living room. Seeing them, Elizabeth immediately scrambles off the couch and stands up at full attention, though she’s still looking down at her feet. _‘What did these people do to her?’_ George wonders silently.

“Well, I’m heading out. Don’t cause any trouble, ‘cause I _will_ hear about it.” Conway addresses the girl, clearly distressing her even more. Elizabeth’s response to this pathetic goodbye is to hunch her shoulders and clam up even more. She seems to be making herself as small as possible and both George and Martha note how she’s still clutching her side.

What is wrong with this guy? How can he treat the kids he’s in charge of like some numbers in a document that can be tossed from place to place? Can’t he see the distress that he’s putting the girl through? George is about to go off about it all but is quickly stopped by Martha. “Thank you very much.” She says with a fake smile. “We’ll see you on Tuesday.”

With that, they walk him to the door, and with some cold ‘good nights’ they close the door behind him. The door shuts with an ominous bang, almost poetically symbolizing the major shift in their lives. The girl is their responsibility now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments make my day, so leave some!! 
> 
> thank you so much for reading and for your support <33


	5. The First Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha and George interact with Eliza for the first time

Both of the adults are pretty nervous about this whole fostering thing, but it doesn’t even come close to how scared Elizabeth is looking right now. How scary must a change like this be? She’s in a new house, right out of the hospital with a major injury, alone with complete strangers. And somehow George thought they were equipped to handle it. He wishes he knew what to say to the girl, but his mind is blank. Thank god for Martha saving them from the awkward silence.

“Uhm… It’s quite late,” Martha starts in the same calm, soft voice she used before, “do you just maybe wanna go to bed?”

Instead of giving a verbal answer, the girl only shrugs. She still hasn’t said a single word.

“Well, you must be exhausted after today. How ‘bout we show you to your room so you can settle in?” George suggests, trying to match Martha’s calm demeanor.

He notices how at that, Elizabeth stiffens and looks down again, this time with an expression of terror on her face. It’s the first real emotion that they’ve seen on the girl-before, she just looked lifeless, save for her constantly furrowed brows.

_Oh. So that’s what’s going on._

“Or _I_ can show you, would that be alright?” Martha asks before George can correct his mistake. Elizabeth nods and leans closer to Martha and away from George. It's a minuscule movement, barely noticeable, but it speaks volumes. “Honey, could you go look for the clothes box?”

As much as he doesn't like it, George sees what his wife is implying. Being invited to a bedroom by a strange man is something that Elizabeth could easily view as a threat. Especially since Mr. Conway said that the girl had needed a rape kit. As much as he wants to show Elizabeth that she can trust him, he follows his wife's order and goes to the garage leaving the girls on their own.

* * *

Right as George leaves, the teenager relaxes a bit, though she’s still ridiculously tense. Martha decides to break the silence that George has left them in by doing a bit of pointless rambling.

“Our room is right there upstairs, so make sure you call me if you need anything. I’ll bring you some clothes in a few minutes but for now, just get settled.”

Martha starts walking towards the downstairs guest room, gesturing for Elizabeth to follow her. Martha’s rambling seems to distract her enough to let her perpetual guard down a bit.

“George once worked as a legal consultant at a clothing company, so they gave him quite a lot of product for free. We never really needed it, but it has come in handy with our son a few times- he always liked to design and make his own clothes so he used them for fabric or for pattern references. Now he sews everything from scratch, but we still kept the box in the garage, just in case. Hopefully, you’ll find something okay and over the weekend we can go to the mall and get you something better, ok?” Martha looks over her shoulder to see Elizabeth nervously stiff and shaking her head.

“Ok, dear, that’s fine- we don’t have to,” She says, trying to maintain her calm and casual demeanor that she's been maintaining the entire evening. It's been successful in keeping the atmosphere light, but she might have just shot herself in the foot with this suggestion. It's likely that the girl probably has anxiety about going out into crowded places. Though it seems like her anxiety is an overall issue judging by the way she hasn’t let her body go and hasn't relaxed since arrival.

“So, this will be your room. We tried to make it feel welcoming, but it’s hard to do when it hasn’t been used by anyone for a while.” Martha provides while opening the guest room door. "Would you like something to eat before I leave you to it?"

Elizabeth, again, just shakes her head.

“Okay, Get settled, dear,” She reaches out to touch Elizabeth’s shoulder in a sign of care, but the girl flinches right out of the way, hissing in pain as the movement jolts her broken ribs.

Right. No touching, then.

As the teen seems beyond exhausted, Martha decides to leave her alone, but not before remembering “The bathroom is the door there,” She says pointing to the en-suite in the room. “Just so you know, it has a lock on it and if you want to, we can get you one on your door too.”

The girl doesn’t meet her eyes but doesn’t protest either.

Martha takes it as a yes. 

* * *

When the lady leaves, Eliza makes sure that she’s gone far enough before sitting on the bed and processing everything. Her prosthesis is aching, but she won’t take it off just yet. You never know what might happen at night, you never know if you’ll need a quick way to escape or a place to hide. Considering the discomfort that comes with sleeping in the prosthesis, she is very grateful that she at least has a downstairs room. Stairs are one of the worst aspects of living with a prosthetic leg. The pain from the leg itself, and the pain from punishments for being too loud while walking were deeply embedded in Eliza’s mind.

From what she could see of the house, it isn’t huge, but it feels like it could fit a family- a real family. James’ house wasn’t all that small, but you could sense the pain and neglect in every corner. Here, the room feels welcoming. It’s small, but it’s cozy. It only fits a bookshelf, a desk, a small cupboard with a mirror above it, and a bed but, if you really squeezed it in, the room could also fit an extra bed. _The bed for Peggy_. Eliza always wanted to share a room with her sister, but James would never allow it.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Washington comes back into the room again. Eliza turns around but still doesn’t meet the lady's eyes. She tries, but every fiber in her being is screaming at her to keep her head low, to avoid confrontation. _Pathetic, _she thinks of herself.

“I've got the box, dear.” The lady starts. “I hope that it’s enough. The clothes should be around your size, but they might run a bit big. Choose whatever you want, no worries.” She pauses as if waiting for Eliza’s reply, but soon enough realizes that it’s pointless. “I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, she leaves and closes the door.

Eliza lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding in.

_It’s alright, they’re usually nice the first evening. Nothing’s gonna happen._

She really wants to believe in that but her anxiety is eating at her alive right now.

To distract herself, Eliza starts sorting through the clothes. She finds a large ‘Star Wars’ t-shirt, some plaid pajama bottoms that she has to roll up a ridiculous amount in order to not trip, and a large Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles hoodie. The entire outfit floods her, but it’s warm, comfortable and it hides the bruises that cover most of her body. It also hides her leg, which is always a plus. The less people pay attention to it, the less they can exploit it. She walks into the bathroom to find (unfortunately) no stool in the shower and (fortunately) some toiletries and towels laid out on the counter. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror she changes into the pajamas and re-braids her hair, remembering to leave a few strands on her right to cover the large bruise on her cheek.

The drugs that she was given just before leaving the hospital must have started to wear off because she’s starting to feel more dizzy and nauseous, and her side and head are throbbing with pain and pressure. She wishes she could just snap her fingers and pass out, just like what the meds at the hospital did, but the constant terror in her mind is keeping her awake. She isn’t sure whether or not she’s allowed painkillers and god knows she won't ask for any.

She still has some scars left from the time when she dared to ask James for some painkillers.

_When Elizabeth was 13, she fell off the stairs and hit her head while trying to get away from James. It was back when she was bothered to try and fight him. She woke up from a harsh slap to her cheek, vaguely aware of the sound and the stinging. He was drunk and pissed off and after he beat Eliza into a miserable heap, he left to make himself another drink and passed out on the couch. That was her chance to go upstairs and pass out herself, praying that he wouldn’t come into her room at night._

_She woke up in the morning, grateful that James had slept through the entire night. However, the first thing that she felt was a sudden wave of nausea. Without her prosthesis, she had to hop to the bin in her room. She vomited what little food she had the previous evening and stayed like this for what felt like hours, dry heaving as her head squeezed with pressure. After calming down, she put on her leg and began the long, slow descent down the stairs to look for some painkillers._

_Step, thump, step, thump, step -_

_“Can you stop that shit?”_

_Eliza froze, clutching the railing. She looked down to see her foster father sitting on the couch, flicking through channels on the TV. Immediately, her stomach twisted in fear. It was a school holiday, so both of the girls were at home, but James was supposed to be at work. He must have stayed home, probably sleeping off a hangover._

_“I thought…” Eliza started, choosing her words carefully. “I thought you were at work, sir.”_

_“Nah,” he called back. “Now, come down quieter, alright? Banging hurts my head.”_

_Eliza took another careful step down the stairs, using the railing to support most of her weight._

_“That’s better,” her foster father said without looking up._

_Eliza wanted to go back upstairs and warn Peggy that James was home, but she needed something to stop the constant nausea and the awful headache she was feeling. Her world was spinning and she recognized the awful pattern in her pain. She needed to get something fast, otherwise, she’ll be bedridden from the headache for the entire day._

_She reached the floor and moved as silently as possible to the kitchen. She started searching through the drawers, looking for anything that would help her get out of this state._

_“What’re you doing in there?”_

_Her stomach twisted with fear again._

_“Nothing, sir,” Eliza called, her voice shaking but still trying to sound casual. “Just getting some water.”_

_With a flash of horror, Eliza heard the floorboards creak. She needed to get out of here, fast._

_“Why’re you rustling around, then?” He was standing, now, and walking towards Eliza. “Stealing food from me? Lying about it, huh?”_

_“Uhh, no, sir,” Eliza said, knowing she needed to stop her foster father’s train of thought as quickly as possible. “It-It’s just some water a-and an aspirin, sir, I- I- wasn’t-”_

_"Stop stuttering." He warned, his voice suddenly deep and serious. Eliza knew that tone, that ominous rumble that meant she was losing the opportunity to get out of a situation._

_"Why would you think you were allowed to have a painkiller?” He took another step towards the corner of the room where his terrified foster daughter was standing. Eliza tried to back away only to hit the wall with her back._

_She was trapped_

_"I-I’m sorry, sir." The apology and the title rolled off of her tongue almost automatically. He told her to call him 'sir' a few months before and she has already found out what disobedience brings. 'I’m sorry, sir' was usually her 'get-out-of-jail-free card' that made a drunken James let her go. This time it wasn’t that easy, though._

_"You should be. Not only did you disrespect and disobey me yesterday, now you want a painkiller for the punishment that you have brought onto yourself?" He was towering over her, slurring his voice in a low growl._

_“I-I’m sorry, sir. I- I was just” She started, her voice just above a squeaky whisper, her eyes filling with tears._

She didn’t get to finish as she was cut off by a fist slamming into her cheek, knocking her to the ground. The blow cut off the unsaid _“scared”_

There will be no painkillers for her this time either. After she’s sure that all of the sounds behind her door stopped and she’s pretty sure the Washingtons went to sleep, she decides to take off her leg. She lays down on top of the bed, not bothering with covering herself. Even after all the years it still sometimes feels strange to feel the sheets against her stump. She doesn’t forget about it anymore, doesn’t fall over but she does sometimes wonder what her life would be like if it never happened.

The pain right now is unbearable. Her side is radiating hot shivers along her body and her whole world is spinning. She closes her eyes and moments later she is in a blissful sleep where there is no suffering or pain. There is laughter instead of crying. And there is Peggy.

_Oh, how she missed Peggy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed it! They really motivate me and make my day <33


	6. Phantom Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza wakes up from a nightmare with phantom pain. An encounter with George.

Usually, when Eliza gets nightmares, they are about James. Most of them are. Sometimes they are about Mr. Humphries- the man from Eliza's first placement without Peggy. Rarely anymore are they about the car crash that took Eliza's parents, but when they are about that night, Eliza is in for a very unpleasant morning. That is assuming that she sleeps until morning.

This night she doesn't. She wakes up with a scream caught in her throat and a heavy gasp escapes her unwillingly. Her chest is heaving violently and she has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop herself from making any further noise. Hopefully, nobody heard her. She can't afford to make any noise on the first night.

_Keep quiet._

She must have had another nightmare, and this time it wasn't about James. While the ones about James result in her waking up with a panic attack, the ones about the crash always result in her having to suffer through a sensory flashback to that night.

She hears the deadly _crash_ echoing in her head. The same crashing sound that's been haunting her for the past eight years.

Her eyes squeeze shut again as the pain in her leg registers in her mind. She bites down on her lower lip to stop herself from screaming out in pain. She can feel some blood on her tongue already, but at least it distracts her from the pain her lower right leg is causing her right now. It truly feels like a hundred knives are stabbing her right leg- _the part that is no longer there._

Eliza sits up and tries to focus on breathing and staying quiet. Usually, when her phantom pain gets this bad the only thing that helps is a mirror or ice. She cannot even imagine putting on her prosthetic right now, as her leg feels like it's on fire. She has virtually no mobility without having her leg on, so she can't leave the room to get ice. _Mirror it is, then._

She hops across the room, supporting herself against the wall, to the cupboard above which there is a large mirror. Leaning on the cupboard for balance, she nearly screams out in pain when taking the large mirror off the wall. This was enough movement to make black spots dance across her vision, so she drops to the floor breathing heavily, and puts the mirror between her legs.

As she looks into it, she can see her healthy leg reflected where her stump actually is. It takes a few deep breaths for her to calm down enough to start thinking clearly again. The pain from her stab wound nearly caused her to pass out yesterday evening which was the only reason she was even able to fall asleep at all. Now that pain seems minuscule compared to the hundreds of knives currently stabbing at her leg. At least that's how it feels. She looks into the mirror and tries to focus on the reflection. Her leg is there,_ right there_. At least that's what she's trying to convince her brain of. It isn't on fire, and there are no knives or stab wounds in her leg.

_Her leg is right there and it's healthy._

The mantra helps her brain settle down, and with it, the pain settles down too. She can finally take a few deep breaths as she leans on the mirror that's standing upright between her legs. When she lets her head rest on the left side of the mirror she can see both of her legs. _Healthy legs._

After the level of pain gets back down to manageable, Eliza leaves the mirror on the floor, being too drained of energy to even think about putting it back in its place. A quick look at the digital clock on the nightstand tells her that it's 6:37 am, yet the November sky is still dark outside. She won't be able to fall back asleep anyway, so the pain won't subside anytime soon. When the night episodes of phantom pain happen, the only thing that helps is sleep or ice- the mirror is like a bandaid- lessens the symptom, but doesn't solve the problem. If Eliza wants to be able to wear her prosthesis and be at all mobile during the day, she has to ice the stump down while the pain is still manageable.

All things considered, Eliza finally decides to take the risk and get up, put her prosthesis on, and get some ice from the kitchen. _Deal with it while it's still manageable_, she repeats to herself once again. Wincing in pain from taking her first step while getting up, she quickly pushes it down and gets up to leave the room. She treads as lightly as she can in her current state and makes a beeline for the freezer as she enters the dark kitchen. No one should be awake yet, so hopefully, she can ice it down and escape back into the room before the Washingtons wake up. She doesn't know what the punishment for taking their things without permission would be, and she surely does not want to find out. After sitting down at the kitchen table and taking off her leg, she puts the ice on the stump and takes a deep breath.

_She can finally breathe._ The coldness of the icepack against her stump seems to extinguish the fire that just moments ago engulfed her entire leg. She brings her left leg up on the chair and leans on her knee for support, letting her forehead rest against it. It is so refreshing and relieving to have the pain be taken away by the ice pack. Eliza can finally breathe again.

_The breath soon gets caught in her throat and she freezes as she hears someone entering the kitchen behind her._

* * *

George feels awful about having to go to work on a Saturday, especially this Saturday because he's leaving Martha alone with a teenager they know nothing about. To compromise, he promised her he would leave extra early to be back earlier than usual and not spend the whole day in the office, but it's still not great.

He got up and got ready for the day, quietly as to not wake his sleeping wife, before going downstairs. And as he goes down to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee, for a moment life is perfectly normal. And then he sees the forlorn teen sitting at the kitchen table. And life is back to being worryingly anomalous.

He certainly did not expect anyone to be awake at this hour on a Saturday, especially Elizabeth, who from the moment she stepped through the door of their house looked in desperate need of sleep. Yet here she is, awake and suddenly tense upon hearing George enter the kitchen behind her.

"Good morning," He says quietly. It would be wrong to disturb the morning peace with a loud greeting, especially when the teen is so skittish around him anyway. He feels so awkward around the girl. Elizabeth does not reply, but she whips her head around to look in his direction. In a short moment of eye contact, George sees the immense fear in the girl's wide eyes. Still, she recovers quickly enough and looks back down at her lap again.

Wanting to give the teen some much-needed space, he heads for the coffee maker while giving the girl a wide berth. With his back to the teen, he lets out a quiet sigh. What on earth made him think that he was adequate to care for a highly traumatized teenager? He barely knows how to handle himself in her presence, let alone handle Elizabeth. It's just for a few days, though. In a few days, she'll be going to a permanent family, and life will be back to normal.

"Your social worker texted us and said that there'll be some people coming around today. Your case manager and police to get your statement." He says while pouring the coffee into his travel mug. He can see Elizabeth from the corner of his eye, tense as always, and looking at him with wide eyes. She just looks so scared and in pain. She probably is due some painkillers in the morning. George quickly reaches out to where her file and two pill bottles are on the counter and quickly finds the information needed. Elizabeth indeed missed yesterday's dose, which is probably the cause behind the general discomfort evident on her face.

"Here, these are the meds they gave you from the hospital. An antibiotic and painkillers." He gets a glass of water and pops out the pills on a small plate for Elizabeth to take. She seems generally out of it, but she nods and takes the medication without much hesitation. When she puts the glass back on the table, she quietly sighs and whispers a ‘thank you’. She was probably in need of painkillers but didn’t want to ask. Or she was afraid to ask.

"I'm heading out to work and Martha and Herc are still asleep. Feel free to also sleep in, I reckon the meds might make you kinda drowsy." Elizabeth just stares at him with the same worried expression, that seems to be her constant state. He's never been good at reading emotions but this teen is a total enigma. She stays at the table with her glass, observing George's every move as he takes his mug and leaves the kitchen.

"Have a good day, Elizabeth," He says turning around at the doorway. She simply gives him a nod in response, the expression of terror on her face dissolved almost completely. She looks relieved to see him go.

_And George just feels awful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments much appreciated <33


	7. The Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha changes Eliza's dressing and sees a glimpse of what Eliza's life was like and the extent of the abuse she endured.

Martha wakes up to a text message from George.

"_I saw Elizabeth in the morning. Gave her the medication but according to the file she still needs her bandage changed. I'll be home around 4._"

Right. _Elizabeth_. In her half-asleep state, Martha almost forgot about the teenager that was put in their care less than 24 hours ago.

She also sees another text notification, this time from an unknown number. "_Dear Mr. And Mrs. Washington, The case manager responsible for Elizabeth's case along with the police detectives investigating the case will be coming around 11 AM to take Elizabeth's statement. I apologize for the short notice. Best regards, Thomas Conway, CPS._"

Well, that gives Martha less than two hours until they arrive. She really hopes that this is a one-time thing and that such invasion of privacy won't become a regular occurrence over the next few days. She still saves the number just in case.

Going downstairs to the kitchen Martha sees no trace of the girl, yet just as she starts the coffee maker, a pair of anxious brown eyes peek out through the doorway. It's still quite early and Elizabeth is looking bleary-eyed and tired, dressed in pajamas that consist of male clothes and completely flood her frail figure. She doesn't look like she's had the most restful night, with deep bags under her eyes. "Morning, sweetie" Martha smiles at the teen gesturing for her to come into the kitchen.

Elizabeth takes a hesitant step and pauses looking down and biting at her lip, seemingly deep in thought. "Everything alright, hon? You need anything?"

"Umh.." Elizabeth starts in a whisper, looking very unsure. "A stool?"

The request sure is strange, and Martha has to do a double-take to make sure she heard the girl correctly. Elizabeth spoke in a raspy whisper, but at least she spoke at all. First word since Mr. Conway left.

"A stool?" Martha repeats, processing this strange request. "Why do you— oh, oh for the shower?" The realization hits Martha mid-sentence. She is ashamed to admit that the girl's disability flew past her a bit and she failed to provide her with a bare necessity such as a way to shower.

The teenager nods, brows furrowed, and still looking down. She seems so scared, just from asking for something necessary for her to function. "Sure, I'll go and get it for you, dear," Martha stands up and walks past the girl to the doorway. It's worth to note that Elizabeth keeps her back pressed against the wall as Martha passes by her, maintaining as much space between her and the older lady as possible, while still keeping her in full sight.

Martha comes back with a sturdy plastic stool she got from the storage room and gives it to the girl who has now also stepped out into the corridor. "Here, hon. I can come with you and help you set it up if you need it?"

Elizabeth's face instantly darkens at that. She looks at Martha fearfully, before lowering her gaze, but Martha can still see Elizabeth's widened stare. _That's a no, then_. Honestly, Martha should have learned her lesson last night when George offered to walk Elizabeth to the guest room.

"Okay, well, if you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen" Martha trails off awkwardly, leaving Elizabeth alone in the hall.

A few minutes later Hercules comes into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker and pouring himself a cup. "Morning" He provides as he takes a sip of the lukewarm liquid

"You know you can heat it back up, right?" Hercules ignores her suggestion and downs his drink in milliseconds.

"Ahh. That was needed." He smiles, setting the mug on the counter. "So, how is she?"

Hercules was very excited to meet Elizabeth, but Martha asked him to leave her space for the first evening. Everything must have been very overwhelming anyways, as the girl went straight to sleep, probably exhausted after spending the entire day in the hospital. "She's uhm…" How does she actually describe Elizabeth? What words can she use to portray the girl who's spoken one word since her arrival? She's _forlorn_, for one. _Scared, small..._

"She's… _quiet_." Martha provides at last. Yep, that seems like a way to put it. However, her pause was long enough to lead Hercules to some wrong conclusions.

"Is she that bad?"

"No, no, she's not bad at all, it's just that she seems so broken. So scared of both me and your dad."

"I mean, soon she'll realize that she doesn't have a reason to be scared anymore, you know," Hercules says, smiling softly at his mom. He is so mature, such a tender soul. In these moments Martha is so proud of the man that her little boy has become.

"Yes, honey. I sure hope so." Martha falls back into her thoughts again before Herc reminds her that he still is, in fact, a growing teenager.

"So what's for breakfast, mom?"

* * *

Around 10, Martha receives a phone call from CPS reminding her that the case manager and the police will be coming around to take Elizabeth's statement. They actually called it a '_witness statement_' regarding James Reynolds, as if Elizabeth was merely a witness and not a victim. Martha wasn't allowed information about all the details, so she just agreed with whatever time the lady proposed- 11 am. That should give them all enough time to figure out the logistics. Before the phone call, she also had time to go through the file and see that Elizabeth missed 2 doses of painkillers (thankfully handled by George) and hasn't had her side checked since leaving the hospital. Martha needs to get on top of that if she wants to avoid another parental failure like the chair situation this morning. How ignorant was she to not make sure that the child in her care had at the very least a way to shower.

Speaking of the girl, Martha hasn't actually seen her since the morning. It's been around an hour since she came out into the hall, and to be honest, Martha hopes that the girl has gone back to sleep. The dark bags under her eyes told her that Elizabeth really needs it. It's very unlikely though, as most probably she is sitting there, curled up from the pain, stressing over what might or might not happen if she comes out of the guest room. Martha knew the pattern well from treating trauma victims back when she was a nurse. It's sadly ironic how she uses more of her medical training than maternal experience when dealing with Elizabeth. It won't be too long anymore, though. According to the lady in charge of Elizabeth's case, who Martha spoke to on the phone, the move will most probably happen on Wednesday. Elizabeth will be moved to a permanent family in five days. They can make it for five days. They can get through almost anything for five days.

Martha decides that it is time to take a step forward and do something good for the girl. The first order of business should be the side dressing. Elizabeth is probably in awful pain, having not gotten her dressing changed since leaving the hospital. Martha will also have to see how the wound is and if there aren't any signs of infection. She will have to change the bandage for Elizabeth and it will require touching that the girl will most likely be freaked out by. It doesn't matter, though, because it all has to be done for her to function and for Martha to feel at all competent in this whole parental fiasco.

Taking the first aid kit from the cabinet, she heads to Elizabeth's room and knocks on the door quietly.

"Hi, sweetie, it's Martha. I've got the first aid kit with me and I need to check your dressing and see if everything's alright with it. Can you let me in, please?"

After a few seconds, Elizabeth opens the door and lets Martha inside. The room looks untouched and the bed is still made as if no one ever slept in it. On the floor next to the bed, there is a large mirror, which causes Martha to notice the empty space on the wall where it was taken from. How did a girl that small get such big of a frame off of the wall? And for what reason?

The girl sits down on the bed and fiddles with the rim of the hoodie, avoiding Martha's gaze.

"Your file says that your side needs to be rewrapped every day. I used to be a nurse and your doctor and social worker asked me to help you with the dressing." She starts but pauses when Elizabeth's doe eyes meet hers for the first time this morning. The eye contact doesn't last long because after a few seconds of initial fear she looks down at her hands and nods quietly. "I do understand if you're uncomfortable with it, dear. Do you think we can do it now and then I can leave you to rest until your caseworker arrives?" Martha earns a nod from the girl who now seems to be worlds away. She's not really surprised at the reaction.

"Could you lift up your T-shirt please?" The girl's breath hitches at the question but she complies nonetheless. When the t-shirt is up, Martha is beyond horrified. She tries not to show it, but she's blinking back tears. From what she can see of the girl's ribs, they are all covered in purple and green bruises, some older and some still fresh. They _are_ broken after all. Her alarmingly hollow stomach has a few older scars as well as a bouquet of blossoming bruises covering her whole torso. All of those horrid marks enshrouding her body are not accidental. This wasn't a singular occurrence of her foster parent's anger, or a punishment gone too far. These injuries were calculated and deliberate. The bandage is covering almost half of the girl's stomach, but Martha can already guess that the stab wound will look even worse. "I will try to keep touching to a minimum, dear. Tell me if it gets too much, and I'll stop, ok?" Elizabeth nods again with her eyes absent. Martha can see how far away Elizabeth's gone and how her entire being almost shuts down at Martha's touch.

Martha takes off the dressing, which isn't as soggy from the shower as she thought it would be, and takes a good look at the wound. It's two big cuts that form a shape of a half-circle, clearly showing what caused the injury. This child in front of her was _stabbed with a broken bottle by her own foster father_. _Good god._ The stitched up cuts are healing up nicely, but you can't really see it due to the extensive bruising around them. The girl must have had some internal bleeding and is for sure in a lot of pain. How the hell did she survive yesterday's evening without the painkillers? Martha tries to be as quick and smooth as possible when sticking on the new plaster, but the teen still flinches at almost every touch. In the end, Elizabeth has tears in her distant eyes and she looks generally unwell. Martha can't imagine the trauma she must have brought up, but there's nothing she could have done to avoid it. Having George or Hercules change the dressing instead of her was out of the question.

"We're done, dear, I'll leave you to it. Feel free to come out or stay here. Call me if you need anything, ok?" With that, Martha leaves the girl alone, but Elizabeth doesn't move an inch, eyes lifeless and dull as she stares down at her lap. She looks clearly out of it and doesn't even give Martha her typical nod. Martha takes it as a queue to leave and as soon as she's out of the door she lets the smiling mask on her face drop.

This girl has been through way too much for someone her age, or any age at all and the bruises are just proof of how unfairly life has treated her. Every time Martha closes her eyes, she is haunted by the image of Elizabeth's skeleton-like frame with the hollow stomach and poking-out ribs as well as the cuts, bruises, and scars that cover her whole torso. When Martha makes it to her bedroom, her eyes are glazed over with tears. Imagining anyone hurt an innocent child is something Martha just can't shake. She sits on the floor, her back against the bed, and closes her eyes, trying to calm herself down. She fails. She fails to stop the tears and she dreads what else will she fail at. Elizabeth has been failed by her parents and her foster parents, she's been failed by the system and by the world that failed to see what was happening to her behind closed doors. Martha doesn't want to fail her.

Elizabeth will only be at their house for another few days and then she'll be off to another placement that will be better equipped to deal with it all. This unspeakable trauma is not something one can just get over and Elizabeth needs a family that will know exactly how to help her. Martha just hopes that it will be a good fresh start for the girl; god knows she deserves one after what was done to her. Yet while she's still here, under Martha's care, she will be protected and cared for. This girl does not deserve to know any more pain than she's already been forced to endure. And the scars on her stomach are just proof of how much she's endured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make my day, so make sure to leave one if you enjoyed! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello!
> 
> So nice to be back. This is a revival of a fic of the same name that I posted here 2 years ago.  
I deleted it because in the last 2 years my writing has improved and I wasn't proud of that work anymore. I figured that Eliza's story should be told again, this time with a better syntax
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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